


Sweet Thing

by p0lluxe



Category: OFF (Game)
Genre: AU, Fluff, Gay, M/M, Modern AU, Multi, OFF Spoilers, OFF modern AU, Shit, dedan likes crosswords, gay shit, google translate is basically god, im taking them swing dancing in the next chapter stay fucking tuned for some possibly gay shit, modern day boston, off by mortis ghost, off game, ratings will change, this is gonna be so long oh man, zacharie works in an antiques shop
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-09-08 06:50:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8834620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/p0lluxe/pseuds/p0lluxe
Summary: "Dios mio."





	1. Chapter 1

A drowse had fallen over Zacharie and he had no intention of even trying to lift it. He had sold a fair bit of merchandise today, including (but not limited to) a set of antique umbrellas, a mannequin, maps, and a strange case of medical equipment that he hoped the buyer did _not_ intend to put to use. It was a disgustingly hot day, and although the merchant was used to such weather, the real sorrow was the lack of air conditioning in the run-down antique shop with its old blinds and motes of dust floating in the hazy afternoon light. An old, loyal fan rattled away in one corner, punctuating its low drone occasionally with a squeal of metal-on-metal that set Zacharie's teeth on edge. A nudge, another more insistent nudge, and then a sudden and sharp kick accompanied by a loud string of foreign profanities (mostly from the boss) usually stopped the noise, but once or twice a week or so it made it so much worse that he had to unplug the fan and that was it for the day. 

He sighed, shooting a glance at his boss across the room, broad back turned, hunched in his chair, gnawing on a pen as he tried to come up with the answer to a crossword. Aside from the occasional curt order or loud cuss, Dedan was quiet. Zacharie closed his eyes. The old politician probably wouldn’t mind if his only employee just got some rest for a moment after such an eventful day of sitting in his worn chair.

Probably.

He was proved quite wrong quite promptly as Dedan’s grating voice rose above the rattling fan. “ZACHARIE _! Ce MOT…quel est ce mot_?” Zacharie growled and scratched his head, scrabbling at his limited knowledge of French vocabulary for an answer. “Erm…Care to impart the clue? _quel est…ce indice? Indication_?” Dedan grumbled, undoubtedly disappointed in his rough grammar. “ _Tou—_ “ Zacharie cut him off, waving a hand. “No, no, _amigo,_ English. _Les Anglais.”_

Dedan gave him a look over a shoulder but complied, and making direct eye contact with Zacharie he put on the worst American accent he could and ground out “What does…Mariah Carey want for Christmas?” He looked disgusted at the words. Zacharie snorted. “Is that the really the clue? Which paper is that? Are there karaoke listings in there? Perhaps some artifact of a long-lost holiday music gem?” He chuckled. “How many letters?The answer is likely ‘you’.” Dedan looked perplexed. _“La solution e_ …Dedan?” Zacharie shook his head. “No. _Vous._ _Tu._ You _._ All I want for Christmas is _you, entender?”_ Dedan looked angry. “No!” Zacharie turned his palms up. “It’s a song! _Un…chanson!_ Surely you’ve heard it?” Dedan chomped on his pen and glowered at the floor. Muttering something about how he payed Zacharie too much (which was simply a lie) he returned to his paper, one step closer to solving the accursed puzzle. Absentmindedly, Zacharie wondered if his boss had a crossword that wasn’t from last December. As he plotted a good mid-year gift of a more recent newspaper subscription, the small bell on the door rang. Zacharie leaned out of his chair a ways to see the front of the shop around a pile of rugs. He winced as he felt another ragged stitch pop under his admittedly not-so-slight weight. He wasn’t fat, far from it, but he had a stocky build with a bit of a soft curve around his belly, but in his arms and back the shadow of muscle was visible only just beneath tanned skin. His curls flopped over his forehead and he hurriedly shoved them out of his eyes as the customer turned down the corridor before him. He put on jovial smile. “ _Buenos dias,_ sir…How may I help you this fine afternoon?” The man tipped his cap over his face slightly. He was very tall, slim and quite pale, freckles just apparent on his nose and cheeks before they were hidden by the rim of the cap. He had a nice looking face, at least as much of it as Zacharie could see. Sharp cheekbones with just a hint of softness, thin lips and very light eyes and hair. Zacharie felts lips twitch slightly as the man’s hands worried at the hem of his shirt…jersey? His teeth flashed as he spoke, very white. “Baseball stuff. Is there a section?”

Zacharie hummed, casting about the store. “We should have something or another to the left. Allow me.” He stood, rolling up his sleeves, watching the man out of the corner of his eye. “I do apologize for this awful heat, you see…that’s the only working fan over there.” He gestured. The man’s mouth twisted but he said nothing. Zacharie chuckled. “Eh…Not much for conversation, are we? Quite all right. Silence indeed is golden.” He walked a few steps to the corner reserved for sports memorabilia, indicating with a sweep of his arm his selection of wares. “And here we are. If anything piques your interest don’t hesitate to talk to me about a price…And,” he murmured, leaning towards the stranger, “beware my dear companion over there. He’s been having a rough time with his crossword. Put him in a foul mood, it has.” Dedan slapped a hand on the table he sat at. “ _Cullion!”_ Zacharie shook his head. “Rude as ever. Pay no mind. Please, meander this paradise of forgotten treasures at your whims! And don’t forget to tip.” 

Zacharie sauntered back to his chair, almost taken aback at the near-constant stream of foul language that Dedan had continued to spout, now pointing at him as he passed. Zacharie put a hand to his temple. “In front of a customer? Really, Dedan, show some class. Weren’t you a _delegate_ for France’s most _delicate_ affairs in banking?” His jab only served to intensify Dedan’s endless tirade. Zacharie chuckled, plopping back into his worn seat. He put his feet up on the counter in front of him and pulled a fan from under it. Hearing Dedan’s outraged roar and something about decapitation he quickly swung his legs down and rested his head in his hands. 

“ _Dios mio_.”


	2. Chapter 2

Zacharie was mildly surprised when his newest customer returned to his counter with an armful of baseball-related items. He honestly hadn't known about half the things in the pile he found before him. The stranger folded his arms, looking Zacharie in the eye with steady confidence. A confidence, Zacharie thought, that nobody wearing a baseball jersey and hat and long pants in 95-degree weather should have. He scratched the back of his neck. “Let’s see what you have here, _amigo_.” He pulled some worn baseball bats forward, checking their tags and dates and scribbling down numbers, humming occasionally as he came across some anomaly that couldn't be so easily priced. He ran his fingertips over fine cloth in muted colors, some kinds of food (or what looked like it), things from places that he hadn’t thought about in years.

This stranger certainly liked baseball. Perhaps he would have a game one day with all those oldbats. He pursed his lips.

Zacharie rubbed his palms together. “Well well well, my dear _batter_ , it looks like you could get yourself quite a bargain on some of these items…” He chuckled and pointed at a small box that the man had chanced upon. “Mhm, on _some_ of these items, but not on that.” He gestured to the object he had set aside. The stranger shrugged. “Okay.”

Zacharie nodded and was about to countup a number for the rest of the items when the stranger interrupted. “Name a price.” Zacharie’s eyes narrowed slightly. Behind the stranger, he saw Dedan set down his newspaper. Zacharie raised his hands. “It is quite valuable. I would say somewhere in the low hundreds”. The stranger’ eyes flickered across his face. His eyes didn’t seem to linger, as most people’s did on his lips, scarred and dark as they were. Zacharie’s brow furrowed, barely noticeable. The man’s eyes no more than ghosted over the marks on his cheeks either, nor the marred skin on his neck and collarbones. Zacharie shook it off as the stranger resumed speaking. 

“How low?” 

Zacharie blinked. “No less than three hundered.”

The stranger’s thin lips thinned further. “Two fifty”.

Zacharie shook his head. “Can’t do that.”

“Two seventy five.”

“Listen, my friend-“  
“Two seventy five.”

Silence ensued. The fan rattled away.

Zacharie paused, then raised his palms “ _Bueno, bueno_ , you have a deal.” He thrust his hand forward with only a little regret. He cleared his throat. The man simply stood there. Zacharie’s had did not waver. 

The man looked Zacharie in the eyes, his own pale blue and flat. Zacharie was mildly unnerved. And strangely drawn in.

The silence had gone on for too long.

Zacharie’s hand remained unshook.

Dedan muttered something from the stove in the corner as he refilled his coffee.

Zacharie coughed, and chuckled again. “Right. Well. _Mi amigo_ , that brings your grand total to five hundred and some change, though I think we could just do the five.” The man nodded once, pulling out his wallet.

Zacharie took extra care in wrapping up the music box.

 

 

 

As Zacharie closed up the register and watched him turn to go, he noticed the man stop and look at a flyer pinned up to the wall. Zacharie wasn’t sure what it was, and then was sure he never would be as the stranger pulled it down and folded it into a pocket. _Great._

The bell on the door rang and then rang again as the stranger came right back in. Zacharie raised his eyebrows as the stranger approach his counter. “Eh eh eh eh. Back so soon, _mon_ _batteur?”_

Across the room Dedan gripped the table. “I keep telling you, you illiterate swine, that _batteur_ is not _batter_!” He said “batter” with the most obnoxious American accent possible. Zacharie was beginning to think that was his new favorite joke. He rubbed his temples. “While I do appreciate your lesson in grammar, and the fact that it was entirely in English, this is not the time.” He smiled again at the batter, watching him shift from one foot to the other. “Anyways. You were saying?” The man posted at the flyer. “What’s this?” Zacharie leaned over the table, thumb pressing a pockmark on his chin. “Hmm. Swing…in the park. Ah!” He laughed. “Swing! It’s a dance. Delightful, and quite simple it is. Do you know how?” The man shook his head. Zacharie brightened. “Ah, I think you would find it very entertaining. Let’s see the logistic of this event…tonight, how convenient! And since you’re new in town, it would serve as a great way to meet your neighbors.” He pointed to himself. “I for one plan on attending, and I just might be able to convince Dedan over there to join.” 

Dedan scoffed. 

The man shrugged. “Maybe. If I’m free.” Zacharie nodded, a smile crinkling the corners of his dark eyes. “And I look forward to it. Greatly anticipated is the arrival of new talent down here, of course.” He met the batter’s eyes. He was still on his tiptoes, forearms planted on the table, knuckles a few inches away from the man’s torso. He watched his throat jump as he swallowed. A grin spread across Zacharie’s face

“I hope we may meet again tonight, _amigo_.” The man’s face tightened, eyes darting. 

He smelled absolutely delicious.

Zacharie pushed himself back into his chair quite suddenly. He kicked his feet up again onto the counter, folding his arms behind his head, rolled up sleeves and all. His expression brightened again. “But until then, try to stay cool! It’s unreasonably hot out there. Take care!” He watched the man retreat, only glancing back once.

“See you next time”, Zacharie murmured, rolling his (secret) tongue piercing across the roof of his mouth absentmindedly. If the dance was at seven, he had a few hours yet let in the day. Too long, really…

Dedan turned around without much intent, then snapped back suddenly to shout at Zacharie about how he would be scrubbing the floors by hand if he didn’t get his _damn_ feet off the _damn table right this minute._

_Old man never misses anything, does he?_

Zacharie chuckled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I FIGURED OUT HOW TO DOUBLE SPACE BLESS
> 
> okay yeah I was thinking how I wanted to split this into two chapters but I felt bad that I had left this for so long without writing much of anything...  
> So here we go! Thanks again for stickin around :)))


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i forgot how to double space im legit about 2 cry

 

The apartment building was clean, tall, and white. The people who lived in it, for the most part, were also clean, tall, and white. Zacharie was none of those things. But he didn’t mind. To him, what people looked like was just a formality. It was what was on the inside; the motives, drives, and desires that counted. It wasn’t so much the personality as it seemed the vast majority of his friends would like to think as the individual aspects that made up that mask. Someone who wanted to be a doctor might choose to do so for different reasons or go about it differently than the next person. And yet they might seem outwardly indistinguishable from one another. A sports player may be in a similar position. The same would go for a simple shopkeeper or an ambitious politician. The list goes on.

Such things Zacharie pondered as he came upon his door on the fifth floor (out of twelve) and (in no rush) searched through his unreasonable amount of keys. He unlocked his door and with a shove pushed it open. The interior was shadowy and full of suspicious and ambiguous shapes. Mostly they disappeared when he flipped the lights on. He closed the door behind him and dropped his bag by the empty coat rack. He yawned. A glance at the clock told him that it was almost seven. Zacharie hummed a tune, straightened the cinches at the neck of his hoodie and no sooner had he bent to unlace his shoes than his cat ambled up to him, purring and rubbing against his ankles in the most insistent manner. Zacharie chuckled, gliding then back of his hand down the hairless and slightly knobby spine, feeling the cat vibrate with his forceful purr. “Hello, Pablo. How was your day, mm?” As the cat meowed again and placed his adorable paws on Zacharie’s adorable foot a second cat strode (read: stalked) out of the shadows, tail straight in the air and pointed chin specifically angled away from Zacharie. “Good evening to you too, Valarie!” He lifted Pablo up to his shoulder where the cat perched, huddled into the warmth of his hoodie. He burbled down at Valarie and the other cat gave a high-pitched yowl back. Zacharie rubbed the top of Valarie’s head, much to his chagrin. As the animal rushed away he plopped down in his favorite chair near a window overlooking the city sunset. Pablo hopped off his lap and darted to a corner. Zacharie hummed the same tune and kicked his feet up as he thought about the dance set to occur. Maybe he would see Dedan and some of his friends from the office complex across the street. The boss, Enoch, was more than likely the one behind the event and his workers were more than likely going to be there taking advantage of the free music and fresh air. He would be taking advantage of the free music as well, but as a light accompaniment to the free booze. The free booze was always the best part of any event. Zacharie rubbed his eyes and glanced at the clock. He would head down in an hour or so. 

Being fashionably late was his forte. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY FUCK IT TOOK SO LONG BUT I AM BACK AT IT AGAIN WITH THE FANFICTION THANKS FOR WAITING FOR THIS TO HAPPEN YOU ARE AWESOME  
> I have half of chapter four done but I have to stop bc people are sleeping and the computer light is v brite but it'll be in tomorrow probably  
> thanks y'all c:


	4. Chapter 4

Perhaps being a little late was his forte but his passion was overdressing. Zacharie stood in front of a rather grimy mirror in a tailored suit with creases and seams crisper than a cold breeze and wing-tip shoes polished to put any diamond to shame. He ran a hand through tousled curls, satisfied with his outfit and the five o’clock shadow he sported. He fancied he could hear the music of the gala drifting through the open window. The night had cooled considerably, oppressive sun turning to low, ruddy light. He looked at the clock again. Seven-thirty. If he left now he would be there well before eight, plenty of time for people to have arrived and the drinks to be out, for the music to be grand and the dancing to be in full swing. Maybe that strange batter would even be there. 

To the party he went, whistling out of tune. Thoughts buzzed in his head contentedly. It was warm but no longer muggy and humid, and a cooler breeze gusted through the streets every once in a while. He thought about the office complex across the pond and the ducks that lived there that Dedan secretly liked to feed, and the people that worked there that hung out at the local bar and always seemed nervous and always liked to share a smoke. He thought about the boss who threw lovely parties and always bought him a drink or two on Thursdays at six. He thought about the batter man who had come into the store today and how he would love to teach him to dance. He did not think about the long black car that rolled by and honked at him or about the druggie driver who used to be too good a friend. He tried to never think about her and it usually worked. Thinking about her made him want to punch something. Or someone. Specifically her or her expensive car.

But that didn’t matter because he was going to a party. With music and dancing and good company and free booze. 

——————————————————————————————————————————

The bar setup was fairly empty. Zachary greeted the bartender who he liked, and ordered a whiskey he particularly liked. He slapped down an unreasonably large amount of money for the unreasonably expensive and unreasonably good liquor. No sooner had he taken the first sip and observed the crowd for potential conversation topics than he heard a voice that made him grind his teeth.

 

“Oi, Zacharieeee…”

Zacharie sighed, setting his drink down. He glared over his shoulder.

“Good evening, my most lovely _sucre._ Looking for trouble, I presume?”

The painfully thin, severely beautiful woman giggled in a sickly sweet way.Her black miniskirt flashed in the light as she scooted closer to him. “Trouble comes looking for me! Wanna dance, Zacharie? It’s been such a long time. Remember how?” He could feed her smile working it’s way into his chest, making him nervous and setting his nerves ablaze with shivers. He grinned right back. “I would rather die!” She giggled louder. “Come on ducky- (and good _God_ did he ever _hate that nickname_ )- they’re all watching…” As he turned from the bar and saw a group of workers huddled around their cheap cigars and cheaper beer muttering and pointing and looking at him without expressions Zacharie nearly sent back his delicious whiskey. Forcing his nausea down he curtly took her arm. “Twist my arm more won’t you? You ice cold bitch.” He bowed at the waist, kissed her hand. She looked down at him smugly. “Gladly. And don’t you use those nasty words with me, you old drunk.” Zacharie pulled her close as the music faded in. He dipped her none too gently, her pin-straight, chin length hair nearly brushing the pavement. “As you wish, madam bitch.” They swung out, separating with violence.Their fingers still locked, they gravitated back in, bodies pressed very close in the heat. Zacharie spun his accursed partner, catching her from behind and sidestepping at a measured tempo, one hand around her waist and the other clasped with hers and stretched out, ready to lever her in a circle again. They met again front to front and danced in time, feet crossing in synch and arms twining in time. They had always danced with perfect fluidity and impeccable rhythm and Zacharie hated every second of it. Sucre, for that was the only name Zachary knew her by, giggled even louder than before. “Didn’t we used to be friends? Real close friends, if memory does serve! We used to dance quite a lot. We would usually be alone and sometimes _nak-_ “ 

Zacharie spun her before she could finish. “Kindly do shut up, my dear Babylonian whore.” Sucre sighed and twined her arms about his neck as the song ended. She leaned into him. She smelled of pot and old sheets. She usually smelled like that, Zacharie too a few years back. He gagged. She opened her mouth to whisper something but was interrupted as a low, soft voice rose up from behind Zacharie. He was tall and thin and pale as milk and still wearing that silly baseball cap.

“I’m looking for the guy at the pawn shop. Have you seen him?”

_Finally, someone I actually want to see._


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think I know just enough Spanish for some drunk batterie yeah

“Sorry, Sugar.” He winked at the offending woman in his arms and, without ceremony, released her from his embrace. She nearly fell, much to Zacharie’s satisfaction but righted herself and slinked away, much to his disappointment. She also grabbed his half-full cup of neat whiskey, also to his disappointment. It did not help that she downed it in one ungrateful gulp and dropped the glass cup on the ground, looking him square in the face all the while. A few Elsens (as he liked to call them, after the corporate superpower they worked for) scattered at the spectacle, diving out of Sugar’s way as she walked out. Zacharie sighed. “Oh well. She’s got a bit of a temper, sure, but don’t let her scare you. She’s all bark and only a little bite. And she usually saves that for me.” He grinned at the batter. He did not grin back. He didn’t say anything, but only looked at him and then around at the square. He looked very uncomfortable. Zacharie put a hand on his shoulder and he flinched. Zacharie blinked. “Alright, _amigo_?” The man said nothing but smiled very slightly.

It looked like a difficult feat for such a stoic man.

Zacharie decided he needed a drink. Or four.

————————————————————————

There were even fewer people at the bar now, what with Sugar’s dramatic exit. Zacharie leaned on the counter, waving at the bartender. “ _Salud,_ my friend. May I request something from the top of the top shelf for my comrade and I?” 

The batter regarded the dark alcohol set before him with something akin to disdain. He pointed, mouth twisted. “What’s that?” 

Zacharie was startled to hear the man speak. Smiling at him, he swirled the liquor in his cup, then tipped it back. His mouth buzzed pleasantly. “Rum. Care to try some?” He nudged the cup closer to the man beside him. The batter shrugged, and with a shocking lack of hesitation, slammed the entire glass. Zacharie’s smile dropped. The man froze, eyes widening. His cheeks puffed out with the liquid. Zacharie reached towards him, thinking he might spit it out but the man’s slim throat jumped and he sat back on his stool. He coughed, wiped his eyes. He looked at Zacharie, bewildered. Zacharie fought to hold in a chuckle. “Goodness, when you drink you really do drink, don’t you? Don’t tell me you’ve never had rum before.” The man shook his head. “Never had alcohol before.” He said, shrugging. He fidgeted with the now-empty glass. Zacharie was shocked. “Now that I find hard to believe!” The batter looked suddenly at him. “Why?” Zacharie blinked again but said quickly, “no reason.” He clapped the batter on the back, looking out at the rows of bottles before them. “Now, let’s introduce you to some variety, shall we?” 

———————

An hour later they had sampled vodka, four wines, three flavors of schnapps (which Zacharie had hated but turned out to be some of the batter’s favorite) and a whopping total of seven types of rum. Zacharie’s head was spinning and his tongue felt fuzzy. He could hear himself slurring slightly and his thoughts were a little cloudy but it was nothing compared to the previously alcohol-virgin batter. The man had four buttons undone on his jersey (offering Zacharie _quite_ a view of a toned chest and freckled collarbones) and his cap was crooked and he was howling with laughter at Zacharie’s dumb joke. He still hadn’t said _much_ but he had likely spoken more in the last half hour than he had his whole life. Zacharie himself was similarly disheveled, his hair in disarray and his suit jacket discarded in favor of rolled up sleeves and a popped collar. They both sported a sheen of sweat that Zacharie took as a sign that it was about time to leave. Dancing would have to wait for another party. He shook the batter’s shoulder. “ _vamos_ …erm…It’s getting late… Come, I’ll walk home with you.”He hopped off the stool, followed closely by the batter. He looked up at the man, trying to keep his _eyes on his face and not his shirt._ “ _Dónde es_ …ugh, where do you live, _amigo_?” The batter giggled. Zacharie was shocked to hear such a sound come from such a man- _eyes up eyes up eyes up-_

“Pshhhh- I dunno. Can’t remember the number…” The batter slurred, wobbling and nearly falling into a trash can. He was simply too tall to be this drunk. Zacharie caught him by his arm, steadying him. People glanced sidelong at the flailing man and scurried out of range of his long legs. The batter all but fell on Zacharie who grunted under his considerable weight. “Lord! You’re a bit heavier than you look, no?” He wrenched the man upright, casting desperately about for a cab.“My friend, can you remember the street you live on?” He looked up at the batter who had an arm around Zacharie’s shoulder and, miraculously, a beer in his hand. He giggled, shook his head and took a large swig. Zacharie groaned. 

“That’s enough for you.” He reached up to snatch the drink but his hand was swatted away by a glaring batter. “Mmmmine.” Zacharie rolled his eyes but said nothing. He’d feel the ale tomorrow, that was for certain. 

Then, as if sent by some watchful hangover god, a cab rolled up and beeped. Zacharie lurched toward it, having to direct the batter where to put his legs within the body of the car. He nearly had to bribe the (justly) horrified driver to get over his fear of the batter puking all over his floormats and _just get them home quickly._

They arrived faster than Zacharie felt was reasonable and he tipped the driver accordingly. The stairs were not a viable option given the stumbling, swaying batter so they had no choice but to ride the elevator with an elderly woman in a wheelchair, one who Zacharie saw often. She would be chugging down the hallways in her bright red seat on her way to bridge or Sunday brunch. Needless to say, he was mortified when she struck up a conversation with him and the batter. 

“Zach-ie! How are you, dear? I haven’t seen you in a while.”  
Instead of reminding her that they had shared a parfait this morning he nodded. “It’s always a pleasure to see you, miss.” She bobbed her head slowly. The batter had stopped swaying and was now watching the numbers blink by on the floor indicator, making a soft blooping to mirror the elevator sounds and giggling occasionally. Zacharie prayed that she did not ask about him. She leaned closer to “whisper” in his ear and he bent at the waist to humor her (although her whisper had no change in volume from her regular shouty tone) She looked up at the batter who was still blooping away obliviously.

_I swear if she asks me if he’s my b-_

“Is that tall handsome young man your _boyfr_ -“ Zacharie stood up very quickly. “Nope! No! Okay _abuela_ , thank you, oh look, this is your floor, right? Goodnight! Get home safe now, alright?” He ushered her out the door, fully aware that it was not her floor. She was also fully aware that it was not her floor and she opened her mouth to protest but he waved a hand. “Have a lovely evening. I’ll see you tomorrow, _bueno_?” He waved goodbye as the doors shut. Behind him, the batter turned in a slow circle to better appreciate all the mirrors in the ceiling. Zacharie sighed, sagging against the wall opposite the batter. He had really redefined dodging the bullet just then. He dragged a hand through his hair. The batter ran his hand across a few buttons on the floor indicator. Zacharie grumbled. “Stop fidgeting. We’re almost there.” He glanced at himself the mirrors overhead. He pulled a face. His heart had ceased racing. He took a deep breath, letting it out just as the doors opened on his floor. Pulling from his pocket his mass of keys he led a disorientated batter by the elbow to his apartment door. He let the man go as he selected his key and fit it into the lock.  
And as luck would have it the key jammed. Cursing under his breath and muttering darkly Zacharie fiddled with the key, unaware of the batter literally breathing down his neck. As he finally freed the instrument and turned the knob, he faced the batter. Forcing some joviality into his voice he began to say “I suppose the couch might need to accommodate y-“ but was cut short as he came face-to-oddly-close-face with the batter’s. The man’s icy eyes were fixed on his own. Zacharie's stomach dropped. Their noses brushed as the batter leaned ever closer. He could feel the man’s breath on his cheek. The batter made unwavering eye contact as his lips parted.

Zacharie was not to be fooled. He slipped inside just as the batter passed out at his doorstep. As the door clicked behind him his breath hissed out. “Holy _shit.”_ He sat right down on the floor, locking his fingers behind his head and loosing a string of foreign profanities that would put Dedan to shame. He cursed his drinking habits, his profession, the sport of baseball, the concept of sports in general, buttons, undone buttons, done buttons, old ladies and especially, _especially_ his being just the slightest bit gay. It was _terribly_ inconvenient. Pablo mewed once from the corner but otherwise did not add to his one-sided conversation. After a few minutes he sighed and unlocked the door. He pulled the batter inside (no small feat) and set him up on the couch. The man snored once, then was silent. A small rosary glinted round his smooth throat, bared with his chest just so, whiter than his teeth in the streetlights.

A little later Zacharie went to bed with a strange taste in his mouth and a foreign feeling in his stomach. It felt like butterflies.

Though that was probably the blasted schnapps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (ngl to put it lightly I'm less than happy with this chapter but my laptop was on the verge of death and I sure as shit wasn't about to drag this out oh boy was this ever A Day)


	6. Chapter 6

Zacharie faded in and out of a warm morning sleep. He felt Pablo curled in the crook of his knee, purring happily away. Light filtered through the curtains, disturbed by the rippling waves of lukewarm air from the half-open window. Soft traffic sounds from outside occasionally punctuated the relative quiet. Zacharie sighed and stretched under the sheets, rolling onto his stomach and clutching a pillow. Pablo stalked across the bed and Zacharie heard his feet thump onto the floor as he jumped down, likely in search of food or his brother. So he was only a little surprised when he heard Valarie yowling from the next room over. His cats were probably just having their morning spat…  
He rolled over again and from his open door adjacent to his bed saw someone move in the kitchen.  
Zacharie leapt out of bed and almost immediately was floored by a headache so intense he felt sick. He suddenly remembered the events of last night, such as dancing with his ex, meeting that strange man at the bar, and drinking an ungodly amount of schnapps. The cab, their legs barely touching in the backseat, the elevator, outside his door…  
Zacharie’s reverie was interrupted by the sound of a pan sizzling. He poked his head out of his door in surprise, even started walking out into the next room before he remembered he wasn’t wearing a shirt and hurriedly ducked back inside.  
The batter was in his kitchen cooking. Zacharie had never expected the man who he literally had to carry inside after he passed out drunk to get up and simply start making a hot meal. Though he didn’t really know much about the man anyways.  
Was he not hungover? Incredibly, terribly, debilitatingly hungover?  
The absurdity of the situation was quickly outweighed by a growling stomach, so he pulled on a loose t-shirt (the one with the heart in the middle, well-loved, faded, and very comfortable) and strolled into the kitchen. It smelled delicious, Zacharie thought with surprise, realizing he probably couldn’t create such an aroma with his sub-par cooking skills. He was no chef, but he did pride himself on his gourmet preparation of microwave meals and Hot Pockets.  
The batter cracked an egg into the pan, silent. Zacharie could see a plate beside the stove piled with eggs and what looked like bacon. Zacharie grimaced. He had totally forgotten about the bacon. Good thing it hadn’t spoiled.  
Nothing more embarrassing than long-spoiled food just sitting in the fridge. Zacharie plopped down in a chair at the small table in the middle of the room, rolled his piercing over the roof of his mouth, thinking. Pablo wove between the batter’s legs, purring loudly. The tall man grimaced, flipping the egg. He shook his leg a little to rid himself of the cat, to no avail. Zacharie smirked. “Not a fan of felines, eh, my friend?” The batter looked vaguely off-put. “I’m not. Not a fan. I’m not not a fan.” His mouth formed a tight line. The giggly man from last night was gone. Zacharie was endlessly interested by the man. “So, where do you live? You’ve apparently no place to be anytime soon.” He nodded at the breakfast the man set in front of them. “Thanks, by the way. You didn’t have to.” The batter shrugged. “I slept on your couch. Felt like I should pay you back somehow.” Zacharie simply nodded. His mouth was full of eggs and bacon. It was delicious. He couldn’t remember the last time he had had a home-cooked meal like this…  
Or, rather he could. The food suddenly tasted like dust in his mouth. He blinked, struggling to swallow for a moment.  
He looked up to see the batter’s icy blue eyes locked on his. Zacharie chuckled, cutting another bite with his fork. “Everything alright?” The batter looked away hurriedly. Zacharie enjoyed his next few bites of food in silence, save for the gentle clink of cutlery. Her cooking was always a touch too sweet for his taste anyways. He swallowed, and pointed at the batter with his fork. “So, amigo, tell me about yourself.” The batter said nothing. Zacharie raised his eyebrows. “Surely you have a name?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Mind sharing?”  
Nothing.  
Zacharie leaned back, lacing his fingers behind his head. “No matter. Suits me to keep calling you ‘The Batter’, just fine, though I imagine it’ll get tedious when someone writes a book about us.” He winked, went back to his food. He only looked up when he felt the man’s eyes still unwaveringly on him. Zacharie shrugged. “What? Buddy comedy, a grand epic of the tales of our escapades, romcom, you name it. Easier to say a simple name than a position in baseball, no?” The batter was still staring. He blinked a few times. Zacharie’s smile never wavered. He didn’t think the man realized he was joking. Finally, the man looked back down. He adjusted his cap, continued eating. Just as Zacharie was about to stand to clear his plate, the man spoke.  
“Simon. I’m Simon. I go to that local college, down Main Street? I major in religious studies. I’m Catholic. I play baseball. Not at the school, on a club team. I moved here a little while ago for the teams and so I could get into the philosophy program at the school.” He looked up. “It’s practically exclusive.” He went quiet again, looking slightly embarrassed. Zacharie chuckled. “You seem like a very interesting induvidual. Nice to meet you, Simon. My name is Zacharie. I cannot claim to have such eclectic interests as you. I am a simple merchant, nothing more. You’ve been into the store before, of course.” Zacharie took their plates, walked over to the sink. As he finished rinsing the plates and forks, Pablo hopped up onto Simon’s lap. Simon tensed up, looking down at the cat with a mix of sadness and distaste. Zacharie looked over his shoulder at them. “That’s Pablo. He won’t bite.” Simon still looked uncomfortable, so Zacharie walked over and scooped the offending cat up. Pablo mewed in protest, stretching small paws back down in and effort to return to the other man’s…generous…lap. Zacharie snickered as he set Pablo down on the couch, muttering “yeah, I’d like to sit on him too but we can’t always get what we want, now can we?”  
Trying to act like he had not just expressed a desire to be seated on Simon, still sitting at his kitchen table (and expressed such a sentiment to his cat, to boot) Zacharie took his seat again. He steepled his fingers, sighing. He had the day off, but that was no reason to just sit here. He was about to grab his keys and try to find a way to tactfully get himself and Simon out of there when his newfound companion burst out “where did you get those scars from?” Zacharie felt his smile falter, but only for a moment. He took a second to compose himself, then deadpanned “what scars?”  
“The ones on your face.”  
Zacharie raised his eyebrows “Where?”  
Simon looked confused. “Your. Face. Kind of. All over?”“Where on my face? Is there something on there?” He licked a thumb and wiped and the corner of his mouth for added effect, trying to look puzzled. This is what he did to everyone when they tried to ask about the scars.  
“Right-“ He shook his head—“Nevermind.”  
Zacharie smiled to himself.  
Works every time.  
There was a minute of silence.  
“Really, though, what happened?”Zacharie smacked his forehead in a moment of frustration. Almost every time. So close. He stared at Simon cooly. “I was in a bit of an accident. Nothing serious, and it was a long time ago.”  
“But w-““Please, amigo, let us divert our lovely conversation to other lovely topics. Tell me more about yourself. So far I only know your name and your major!”  
———————————————————————————  
After a good long while of strained conversation, Simon seemed to warm up to him. They were laughing in good-natured companionship an hour later when Simon noticed the time, and began to bid a hasty goodbye. Not to be shown up in a game of courtesy, Zacharie swept up to the door and held it open for the other man. He noticed Simon had nothing in the way of identification, no wallet, credit card, drivers license, nothing. He ghosted out the door, looking back at Zacharie awkwardly. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then shut it again. He raised a hand in a jerky wave, then turned to go. Zacharie chuckled. “Will you let me walk you to the door, amigo? I trust you can find your way home, but if you are in need of assistance…” Simon shook his head. “No. I’ll. Find my own way. Thanks. For letting me stay. Good…uh.”  
And then he was gone, striding down the hallway on those long legs.  
Zacharie blinked a few times, then shook his head and shut the door.  
“Thanks for breakfast”, he murmured to no one in particular.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> basically I was gonna name him Sebastian?? no idea why tbh but then I remembered I know shit abt genesis lmao so I was thinking something big and important but then I was thinking levi or simeon bc of the whole violence thing sohere we go i give you simon the baseball demon

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading yo! Writing this is gonna be my new favorite procrastination TECHNIQUE so there's more to come! And if you're so inclined you can find a working list of character backgrounds and such if you pop on over to my tumblr at http://qincheap.tumblr.com/post/154403243242/off-modern-au
> 
> thank you so much!!!


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